Come Home
by GangsterMama
Summary: 'Please, come home to me Kreacher' this time a little louder.   The crack of noise revibrated in the old house, a tiny gasp. Sighing with relief, I turned; a bit of a bounce back into my step until my eyes found him, dying softly as servants often do.


'Come home' I whispered, ever so softly. Hands stoped quaking, eyes trained on the back of the Dark Lords head. The opal gleam of withered, cream flowers and sickly oyster-green painted on his plain head shimmered slightly in the dull light. Then in a puff of dark oily smoke, he was gone, evaporated into stank air, leaving my slight figure alone. Black curls, now unkempt and unhealthy swam down my face, exhaustion smudged clear but I stood determined.

'Please, come home to me Kreacher' this time a little louder.

The crack of noise revibrated in the old house, a tiny gasp. Sighing with relief, I turned; a bit of a bounce back into my step until my eyes found him, dying softly as servants often do.

Curling, and unfurling, shivering and aching, he was whimpering so quietly, his eyes screwed in pain.

'M-master?' He had said, his papery lips shuddered out a gasp, his giant golf sized eyes screwing up. It was all a blur, all I could see is his form, this brave form, still returning. I expected him in a different state and I got some solace in that, he wasn't dead or worse, not coming back to me.

And for a split second I imagined being here alone, my mothers pride set on my shoulders, the laughter on my brother's face, his snide grin as he saw the faux me. I wanted to say that I had changed.

'I know your not going to understand that and I don't expect anything from you.' So many times that phrase rang though my head, like the Hogwarts clock tolling at my inner ear. I wanted a brother to tell me what I'm doing now was right, mother loved me, adored me for what I what I had done. But secretly deep down , something had pulled within me, and for the first time in my years I had looked at that haughty faced he had inherited and grew into so beautifully and pictured myself where he was.

Away from that terror, that constant vigilance, of his looming eyes, and her curly dark hair that would creep up into my head, my dear cousin was ever so proud; I believe she would be ashamed to see me like this. Almost scathing and something boiled inside of me, the thought of my own family members willing to turn on me for his skeletal hand.

But here was Kreacher, the source of comfort in this whirlwind of blood, whispers and horrifying fragility of my mind frame. I ran up to him, I did not know what to say , I gathered him in my arms and I just stared. Uneasy to make a move, I did not know, I feared for his life, for his departure away from me, leaving me here in this dark childhood of mine, in this house. In this house I loved, we loved. I was not ready to be an 'I' yet.

'Kreacher, Kreacher' It was like a prayer on my lips. I kept reciting it over an again.

His crusty, sodden hand finally rose up, slowly, like train slowing down; I could almost here the screeching effort it took for his bones to work. Something in my brain snapped and I moved away from him, gingerly and escaped to the top cupboard, above the sulking sink.

Grabbing a polished goblet, and ducked it under the leaky tap, I jogged back, hastily handing it to his ironed hands. He looked almost religious, his eyes so wide and trusting, as if he was staring at some golden halo that magically perched on top of my head and I hated that , what I had done to him. Because it was me, because of me he was here, gasping for life, shaking like the light of him was desperately trying to tie him down to earth but failing. I could have told the Dark Lord, pleaded with him, but I knew that he wouldn't have listened. He would have stared down, his prodigal slits of snake eyes, brilliant, fabricated red and evil tear drop pupil, pitying me for my compassion. He could have whipped lazily with his finger, and I would have left this world like Kreacher was about to. But that was cowardly, thinking of my benefit over this fallen solider, dressed in decaying fabrics and wispy hair falling, I cradled him In my arms. Willingly whatever divine magic in this world, to help Kreacher, to help me have my companion, just one moments longer.


End file.
